


When I'm falling I'm at peace

by beathealien



Category: Original Work
Genre: 17th Century, Catholic Guilt, F/F, F/M, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, M/M, Muslim Character, Nederlands | Dutch, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Pirates, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25406470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beathealien/pseuds/beathealien
Summary: Johannes' life is amazing.He's a trader and sailor living in Amsterdam in 1682, he's a reformed christian, has amazing friends, and is an actual ray of sunshine.Except, Johannes' is not even his name.Except he's black.Except he's still, secretly, muslim.Except he didn't get to see his family for so many years, he forgot their voices.Except he's in love with a white, catholic priest.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	When I'm falling I'm at peace

**Author's Note:**

> nobody will read this except for cam and anybody cam will force to read this.  
> ( hi cam, thanks for the names suggestions ). 
> 
> i'm just gonna go over the faceclaims really quickly: 
> 
> \- Johannes's is Daveed Diggs,  
> \- Edouard's is Luca Marinelli,  
> \- Willem's is John Boyega,  
> \- Marie's is Samantha Banks,  
> \- Abraham's is Colin Morgan,  
> \- Pier's is George Blagden,  
> \- Paul's is Dev Patel,  
> \- Hendrick's is Pedro Pascal.
> 
> i do not take criticism.  
> also, english is not my first language.

“Look who’s back!” 

A familiar voice erupted as soon as he set foot in the old tavern all his acquaintances and friends usually go to for their drinking necessities after a long day of whatever they actually spent time doing ( Johannes had a strong feeling at least half of them didn’t do anything at all, maybe just fucked someone when they got lucky and complained about how stressing their life was in front of a beer the rest of the time ); loud enough for everyone to hear.  
The dutch didn’t mind being looked at, so the thirty glances in his direction weren’t unsettling in the slightest.  
Well, maybe in the slightest, since he just spent two weeks in a prison, fell in love with a catholic priest, spent many sleepless nights busy thinking about the aforementioned priest, his hair looked like total garbage and he hadn’t been able to properly change into fresh clothes or wash like he would consider appropriate, yet.  
But even when all these things were taken into account, he knew he remained gorgeous; it was good for everyone else to remember, also. So let them look, and let them watch, and, in more than a couple gazes, let them lust. It was important for them to remember after so long without him. 

A spontaneous smile stretched his lips, while the dark skinned arms parted from his sides, with open palms, almost symbolizing a hug. 

“What’d I miss?”

He asked with his usual loud and lively voice, enough to startle the whole tavern.  
Not that he (or anyone else, for the matter, since many eyes, after politely cheering his arrival, turned back to their business) cared, while he took place at the usual table, at the usual seat, specifically saved for him in those days of forced departure.  
The wood was sturdy as he remembered, the tavern smelled of that disgustingly sweet aftertaste alcohol left when sitting in a room for too long (not that Johannes would know the smell outside the tavern, since he never drank a drop of it in his life: he learned to hate it, however, due to the disgusting smell, the sticky feeling it left on fingers and hardwood floors. But he also had to learn how to tolerate it, since everybody’s favourite activity seemed to be getting absolutely drunk out of their minds, for some unknown reason), the air warm and homey. 

There were the same old paintings Abraham had done of the views of one of Amsterdam’s canals hung, and the same old bottles on the shelves behind the counters: Johannes saw the owners and bartenders change every single one of them at least a million times, and couldn’t understand how they could still look old, as if no one ordered wine in that tavern, which was just a ridiculous accusation, if he ever heard one.  
The same people, the same faces, the same language, the same everything.  
His memory has yet to fail him. 

“Did you take a nice vacation in French’s prison, babe? I know I missed you. ” 

Hendrick asked with an extremely amused tone, leaving him no time to try and find a comfortable position in his seat before he got thrown the fake flirting bait with full force.  
Which is fine—well, it would’ve been fine beforehand, before he spent a whole week thinking (obsessing, fine, maybe obsessing is the right word), about a couple of eyes so green and so light you could see the beginning of all light and universe in them. And the eyes were just the beginning, because his hands, his lips, oh, and his voice, his soft blonde ha— whatever.  
He is not in love with a priest. 

He's totally in love with a priest.

Can you cheat on a catholic priest that probably will never answer your letters again through innocent flirting with your straight friend?  
Somehow, Johannes decided you could. 

“Did Abraham’s dick fall off yet?”

He asked instead, after a second of silence to ponder the various options in front of him, reviving an old inside joke and just winking ad Hendrick, as to make him understand he wasn’t ignored, and to make it even more than clear to everyone else sitting around the table.

“He’s close to it, I must admit. Just a matter of time before it’s gonna get all red and puffy and starts too ooze out pus. That kid fucks more than you, Jo, colour me impressed.”

“Looks like my record had been beaten, my primate taken, and I am a man without a career.” 

Joked the African-dutch, without missing a beat and with a delighted smirk plastered on his face.  
He missed all of this, and he ached for it.  
Everything fell back into place as if nothing had ever changed, as if he didn’t just spend two weeks locked up in a cell, busy falling in love with the unattainable man of his dreams.  
After all, they were all sailors, and it wasn’t unusual that one or more of them just disappeared into the sea for months straight.  
More than once Johannes found himself alone in that tavern, drinking his raspberry juice and pondering about the next man he would’ve tried to bring into his bed.

He liked solitude, as long as it was filled with other people’s voices. 

“At least you still have a dick, Jo.”

“Can you stop? My dick will not fall off! Also, we have never seen Johan’s dick, how can you know it didn’t fall off?” 

Abraham was the youngest of the group, mid-twenties and the fire in your eyes that only youth could ever give you. He worked as an apprentice to a local painter, a couple roads from the port where everyone else around that table kept busy during the day.  
He always smelled like oils and his clothes were even dirtier than theirs, somehow: they were stocking and working around (and inside!), boats all day, were very familiar with the smell of fish and the dirt that only the sea could ever gift you, and yet he was the dirtiest one.  
Hell with that kid, he would’ve protected him with his life.

“I’ve seen it, it’s fine.”

“Thank you for your precious insights on my dick, Pier. But yes, I can promise you it’s doing just fine. Yours won’t for long, if you keep going with every person that looks at you.”

“Isn’t it the same thing you do?”

“Sex between men has different rules, Abe.”

“Wouldn’t you know, eh, ‘Rick?”

He instantly bit his tongue, hard enough for him to actually feel some kind of pain.  
His body and mouth moved without his head’s permission, and if it just stopped, it could solve the majority of his life issues.  
For the first time in his life, he couldn’t even begin to imagine to have any kind of intimate relationship with anybody that wasn't him. He just couldn’t bring himself to want it, nobody he ever met could even compare to the man he recently devoted all his heart to.  
Adding to this the hypothetical discomfort the other could feel knowing Johannes wasn’t faithful… he would’ve preferred a knife in his heart than hurt the other in even just the slightest of ways.  
The kind of love he found himself nurturing towards the Italian was so new and unexpected that the dutch had no idea on how to take it, how to handle it: he just let it overwhelm him, because that was the sweetest sensation he ever encountered. 

Johannes, for the first time in his life, was in love.  
And what a love. 

“Jo, you really didn’t tell us anything. Did they treat you right?” 

“Did they add scars to the ones you already have?” 

Pier’s hand flew across the table, slapping the back of the young man’s neck, full of as many black curls as bad ideas. 

“Abe, what the fuck!”

“Ouch! Sorry! I didn’t mean it in a bad way!” 

He excused himself, with the high pitched voice he always used when he wanted to raise pity for his own cause.  
Johannes just lightly shook his head, another smile forming on his lips: he felt like he couldn’t stop smiling at that situation, at his friends, despite the void he could clearly feel deep inside his organs.  
He missed him oh so dearly, and freedom didn’t feel like freedom anymore, not knowing he was a whole country away. The italian will never answer his letters, Johannes will never see him again, and, worst of all, if something terrible happened to him he will never know, and the thought brought him such a high level of fear he had to stop his fingertips from shaking.

“They treated me fine, it was all right. They didn’t torture me, they just kept me there, getting bored to death, for ten fucking days.” 

He paused and took a long breath, ready to deliver the drastic news, while his dark eyes stared at the cup full of raspberry juice that Marie, the waiter, brought him a while back, along with a brief grip on his shoulder and her soft, full lips curling in a sweet smile.  
She was the only woman that made Johannes doubt his attraction to men, but, even if they both had a very… functional physical relationship, he just couldn’t make an emotional one work, not with a woman, and they decided to stay friends. Luckily, she was extremely good at staying friends. 

“Willem and Paul already know, so I might as well tell you too.”

Willem and Paul were his associates: well, the correct term would be his crew, since he definitely was their boss during working hours. But they all switched to friends as soon as the sun began to settle, and they were also the ones that had to travel all the way back home to Amsterdam to retrieve the right documents to prove Johannes’ innocence, just to bring them back to France and, again, bring him back home on his own ship.  
They were missing at the table just because they were too damn tired to stomach another sleepless night, and, well, how could he blame them?  
He found the courage to look at his friends in their eyes, already anticipating their responses, their reactions, their words.  
He was doomed to endless jokes and mockeries, he knew it. 

“I fell in love with the catholic priest they brought in to convert me.”

He stated bluntly, his self-esteem unwavering despite the ridiculous news, despite his awareness of the consequences.  
He was ready for the worst.  
He has always been ready for the worst. 

The seriousness of his voice and expression caused everyone to fall into a stunned silence, silence that was broken by Pier’s exclamation. 

“Johannes, what the fuck?!”


End file.
